


Turn Around, Look at Me

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Trevelyan has been nursing a crush on Commander Cullen since practically the day they met. His good friend Dorian can't quite understand what he sees in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Around, Look at Me

**Author's Note:**

> For those curious, [Marcus Trevelyan 1](http://i.imgur.com/tHxNZ9v.png), [Marcus Trevelyan 2](http://i.imgur.com/XouHNkD.png)
> 
> Title from the Vogues song of the same name, though it doesn't _quite_ fit their relationship. Dorian's not that desperate. :)

"Enjoying the view?"

Marcus Trevelyan looked over as Dorian approached. He'd been leaning on the battlements of Skyhold, watching the soldiers train. To most people, he was simply overseeing his troops. To those who really knew him, he was watching one in particular. If pressed, he would deny that he was pining for the commander, but he'd been nursing a crush since the moment he laid eyes on him. It wasn't the first time he'd been attracted to a man who simply didn't share the same predilections as himself, but it was the first time the attraction persisted several weeks instead of petering out. He'd tried to avoid Cullen after his first attempts at gauging the man's interest before outright propositioning him. The commander was a hard man to read, after all. The awkward declination from Cullen and stammering apology from Marcus caused such embarrassment that it was three days before he could even look Cullen in the eye again.

"Aren't you?" he returned lightly.

Dorian leaned back against the stone wall, glancing over his shoulder as if the soldiers training down below were barely worth his time. "Mm. I think you more so than I. I prefer them a bit more refined."

"Liar," Marcus teased, though he admitted he wasn't sure what Dorian's type actually was.

He'd gone with Dorian to Redcliffe, and after Magister Pavus returned to Tevinter they spoke at length about many things. While he didn't quite know exactly what Dorian was burdened with concerning his heritage, he thought he understood. The Trevelyans were a large family, Marcus being the youngest of six, four brothers and one sister, he had hardly any responsibilities to carry out beyond, 'Don't shame the family.' He wasn't obligated to marry to carry on the name and it was generally accepted in Ostwick that men would dally with other men. No one truly batted an eye to see Marcus dining out with a 'good friend' who was, in reality, his current lover. But for Dorian it was much more complicated.

"There's nothing wrong with looking after all," Dorian said, but kept his back to the training yard.

"Isn't there?"

Dorian hummed sympathetically, crossing his arms. "I'm not entirely sure that staring at the commander will get him to change his mind."

Marcus frowned. Dorian was a good friend. They shared several interests, enjoyed gossiping, drinking, playing chess together, but there were certain subjects they tended to avoid. After their initial discussion about him, Dorian's father was one. The other was Marcus's unrelenting infatuation with Cullen. He shifted awkwardly, looking away from the training yard.

"Oh don't make that face," Dorian soothed. "Let me buy you a drink. We don't even have to talk about it. We can discuss Cassandra's horrible taste in books instead."

Marcus rolled his eyes but relented. The pressures of being pushed into a position he'd never wanted called for the occasional getting drunk, and Dorian was willing to listen to him lament about all of it. Or, more accurately, get his mind off the subject so he didn't have to think about it.

-

"How many papers do you sign in a day?" Dorian asked as the scout left their table.

"I've honestly lost count." Josephine usually handled the reports. But, Marcus realized, if they were going to put him in a position where he had to lead them, he wouldn't shirk all his duties. Besides, Leliana was a little kill-happy, Josephine a bit too nice with certain noble families, and Cullen… "Ah damn it."

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

Marcus sighed. "I'd just stopped thinking about him."

"I'm not sure what you see in him exactly," Dorian said, leaning forward to top Marcus's wine glass off. "Well yes, he's very nice to look at, but have you had a conversation with him?"

"A few." Admittedly after Marcus's awkward proposition, they'd kept the conversations strictly business. Troop reports and Venatori movements, red templar sightings and the like.

"He talks about his family back home but otherwise is rather tight-lipped on just about everything else."

"Can we not speak about him?" Marcus asked, almost pleading. He was just on the other side of tipsy, the wine stronger than he was used to, making him feel rather warm and flushed.

"We can always talk about my favorite subject instead."

Marcus snorted. "I think I've heard all your anecdotes about yourself," he said, grinning.

Dorian scoffed. "Nonsense. I can talk for hours about myself."

"That's true enough." Marcus nodded and gave a half-wave to the handful of people who entered the tavern. Kitchen staff, he recognized, who were excited that that Inquisitor acknowledged them.

"Were you this popular in Ostwick? I should think not, though. Especially with your dress sense."

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" Marcus asked, glancing down at his leather coat. It was a bit worn in places, the bottom burnt from a dragonling's breath he was too slow to avoid. "I've a much better wardrobe at home. Here I spend weeks traipsing about the coast or the Dales. I'm not going to dress in silks and velvets," he said, leaning over and running a finger along Dorian's silken sleeve.

"You should!" Dorian insisted. "Being the Inquisitor, you have a reputation to maintain. At least you should dress the part while you're in the castle." He took a sip of ale, made a face, and took another one. "Hm. Yes, I think that would be the perfect distraction for you."

"Oh?" Marcus drained his glass, waving Dorian off when he went to pour another.

"Meet me in your quarters in ten minutes. I want to dress you up good and proper. We can talk about how much better the fashion in Tevinter is over your Ostwick."

Marcus pretended to be offended. While he did enjoy a nice formal outfit for parties and general socializing, he never thought much about the accessories that Dorian seemed so fond of. "I suppose," he agreed, because if he didn't, he knew Dorian would either tease him mercilessly about Cullen, or drag him off anyway.

Dorian smiled and winked. "Trust me," he said, and finished his drink before striding out of the tavern.

-

Ten minutes later found Marcus in his quarters, hands on his hips as Dorian waved in three servants carrying crates. He shut the door after they left and returned up the stairs, looking excitedly at the contents.

"All yours?" Marcus ventured.

Dorian smirked. "Hardly. Well, some of them. But I doubt the majority of my things would actually fit you. You're rather…" He gestured with both hands, sizing Marcus up. "Broader."

Marcus looked down at himself. He could understand what Dorian meant, the silken tunic and pants straining a bit. He'd always been broad and muscular, but with daily training and tasks that involved fighting demons and bandits and other such things, he knew he'd gained quite a bit of muscle mass and weight since first joining the Inquisition. He was also several inches taller than Dorian.

"I think we'll start with this," Dorian said, laying out several outfits over the bed. "Go on then."

Marcus pulled off his boots and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it next to his leather coat. With the glass doors firmly shut and the fire built up, the room was comfortably warm, opposed to everywhere else in Skyhold which seemed to contain more holes than walls. Dorian brought over a short-sleeved silken tunic, dyed black with golden buttons.

"Our skin tones are nearly the same," Dorian commented, holding the fabric up against his chest. "Black and gold is timeless. Don't you think? Try it on."

Marcus laughed. "I think you missed your calling as a tailor."

"Oh no, definitely not," Dorian countered. "I'm hopeless with a needle. I do enjoy being fussed over by a tailor though. I have one back home who's quite fond of me."

"I bet."

"Are you going to stand there holding it?" Dorian asked. "Not that I mind staring at you, but it is a bit distracting. Go on."

Marcus shook his head but pulled the shirt on, buttoning it up to the neck. The ends of the tunic reached his thighs and it was altogether a bit too tight.

"Maker, no," Dorian huffed. He stepped over and reached up, unbuttoning the top three buttons, warm fingertips brushing Marcus's collar bones. "There. Button it too high and they'll mistake you for someone serious."

"Wouldn't want that."

"Off with the trousers," Dorian instructed, plucking a pair of leather pants from the pile. They were black with gold stitching.

"I…" Marcus hesitated, feeling a bit warm.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, I assure you," Dorian said airily.

Marcus licked his lips. "I'm not wearing smalls."

Dorian raised an eyebrow at once, his expression somewhat difficult to read as he crossed his arms and leaned against one of the bedposts. "Oh?" He held the leather pants loosely in his hand, eyes flicking down Marcus's body.

And suddenly it was _quite_ warm in the room. While rumors circulated the castle that he and Dorian were more than friends, there was no truth to them. Something Marcus tried to assure both Cassandra and Mother Giselle, insisting that Dorian was definitely on their side, and influenced him only as far and in as similar a fashion that anyone else had. The thought of doing _something_ with Dorian crossed his mind shortly after meeting him, but the potential of losing a good friendship was there, in addition to his attraction to Cullen that he couldn't quite shake.

"Shall I turn around to protect your modesty?" Dorian challenged him. 

"As if I have any of that." Marcus unknotted his trousers. He kept his eyes on Dorian's expression, which went from curious to definite interest as he slid the silk from his hips. The tunic was long enough to conceal his groin, however it did nothing to hide the fact that he was slowly starting to get hard under Dorian's appraising look. "Well?"

Dorian's eyes flicked up to his face. "Are you asking me for an assessment?"

Marcus laughed. "No. The pants."

"Do you think they're strictly necessary?" Dorian asked, holding them out on his fingertips.

It was a challenge. Marcus felt his stomach twist rather pleasantly, heart beating just a bit faster. Blood rushed from his head to his cock, the silken tunic feeling nice against long neglected flesh. "Only if you want to continue dressing me up like a doll," he said, stepping out of his pants and approaching slowly.

"What's the fun in dressing up," Dorian whispered, "when being naked can lead to much more… enjoyable activities."

Marcus wondered if this was Dorian's plan all along. Distract him from his hopeless infatuation, redirect his sexual appetite, and then… then what? A night of sex? Two nights? Friendship with benefits? Did it truly matter when they could all be dead tomorrow? Not that Marcus thought they were going to lose. He was cheerfully optimistic about their chances, after all. He had no idea what Dorian was offering beyond what was in front of him now and he realized he didn't much care at the moment. It had been too long since he felt comfortable enough to fall into bed with someone. While so many would leap at the chance to sleep with him, he was the Inquisitor. He was a figurehead. But to Dorian he was just Marcus, another nobleman's son who needed a friend.

He took another step, then another, and reached out, taking the pants from Dorian. He tossed them aside. Dorian pressed back against the bedpost as he stepped into his personal space, chin up almost defiantly, but his eyes were wide with wanting. Marcus glanced at his lips, parted in anticipation, and he reached up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over them. Dorian let out a breath and Marcus could tell he was trying not to press forward, to close the mere inches between them. He was quite handsome or pretty, Marcus wasn't sure what adjective to use for Dorian. Smooth jaw, well-groomed, and he smelled very, very good, he noticed, leaning in to draw his nose along Dorian's cheek.

Dorian's hands rested on his chest, warm through the fabric. He unbuttoned another few buttons and Marcus felt smooth fingers against his skin. He drew his own fingertips up Dorian's cheek then into his hair, cupping the back of his head. Dorian let out a quiet, naked whimper as Marcus tugged gently, pulling his head to the side. His lips fell upon Dorian's neck, just under his ear and he inhaled again. A clean scent, whatever soap Dorian used with just a dab of cologne that made Marcus's head swim, though that could have just been the wine. Why had he denied himself this, when it was obvious Dorian was so willing? Had he been so caught up chasing a man who didn't want him and simply missed the signs until Dorian had to stop being subtle?

"Maker," he whispered, tongue flicking out, tracing Dorian's earlobe.

Dorian was breathing heavily now, gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Hm?"

"How long have you wanted me?" Marcus asked quietly. He nipped the sensitive lobe before dropping small kisses along his jaw.

"I… That's very distracting," Dorian said, but tilted his head up.

Marcus bent low, free hand unbuttoning Dorian's shirt, undoing the clasps and buckles that held it all together. "Good." He kissed his neck before biting, enjoying the sharp noise of surprise it elicited.

"Since the talk we had after my father left," Dorian admitted. "Embarrassing. Shameful, really, when you were obviously smitten with another."

"So there's something shameful in wanting what you can't have? I should hide myself away then, all things considered."

"You're the Inquisitor," Dorian countered, hands back on Marcus's chest now the shirt was completely unbuttoned.

Marcus pulled away only long enough to remove Dorian's own shirt, tossing the collection of leather and buckles and rope to the floor. He stepped back a little to admire him, palms splayed against Dorian's chest. Dorian wasn't as well-defined as he was, though definitely in good shape, if quite a bit slimmer. He ducked his head impulsively, tongue flicking one dark nipple. Dorian cried out, one hand immediately in Marcus's hair, the other reaching up and behind him to grab onto the bedpost.

"What does that have to do with it?" Marcus asked, before doing it again. He kissed the pebbled nub, teeth grazing over it, enjoying the noises Dorian was making. He brushed his thumb firmly over the other, a promise to give it the same treatment soon.

"You can have practically whomever you wish," Dorian managed, gasping when Marcus moved to the other.

"Practically," Marcus muttered, closing his eyes before sucking hard.

Dorian groaned, nails scratching at Marcus's scalp. "Anyone with taste," Dorian amended. "Anyone who saw…" He lost his train of thought as Marcus kissed down his midline, tongue dipping into his navel as he knelt. "Maker's breath."

Fabric was easily parted, Marcus's attention now on the straining silk of Dorian's smallclothes. He leaned forward, mouth teasing him through the cloth, Dorian making a strangled noise from up above. He looked up at him, pulling away briefly to smirk. "You're a man of refined taste."

"Indeed," Dorian managed, skin flushed with need. "I don't go to bed with just anyone."

"Is it because I'm the Inquisitor?" Marcus asked, slowing pulling Dorian's smalls down and out of the way. He knew the answer already but wanted to hear Dorian say it nevertheless. Confidence was something he had in spades but hearing the admittance would make it more real somehow.

"You are my dearest friend," Dorian said at once, running his fingers back through Marcus's thick, messy hair. "Had we met under different circumstances, I'd have wanted you all the same. You must believe that."

He did.

Marcus fell silent as he kissed the tip of Dorian's cock, the hand tightening in his hair slightly shy of painful. He gripped Dorian's bare hips, pushing pants and smalls further down and out of his way. Above him, Dorian whispered quiet words of encouragement, begging him for more than the light kisses and gentle licks up his shaft. Marcus closed his eyes and enjoyed the slightly salty taste of precome on his lips, tongue lathing over the sensitive head of Dorian's cock. He chuckled at the faint, frustrated cursing before tucking his lips gingerly over his teeth and giving Dorian exactly what he wanted. A string of Tevene followed, Dorian's fingers twisting in his hair. Marcus winced and grabbed his wrist, humming contentedly when Dorian scratched his scalp gently as way of an apology. Taking Dorian's hips again for leverage, he inhaled, then descended fully on his lover's cock, swallowing around him.

Dorian groaned, knees shaking a bit. One hand in Marcus's hair, the other still gripping the bedpost, he could hardly stand as Marcus swallowed again and again. Marcus slid back, swirling his tongue around the tip of Dorian's erection again, his own cock twitching, begging for attention. Dorian swallowed, gasping for air when Marcus deep throated him again, this time whispering a prayer to the Maker. Marcus pulled back and gently pushed at his thighs, Dorian stumbling slightly as he fell to the mattress, stepping out of his pants and smalls entirely.

"Come here," Dorian pleaded, pulling at the tunic Marcus still wore.

Marcus went, a muffled moan as their lips met for the first time. Dorian felt warm all over as he crawled slowly over top of him. The kiss, slow and sensual, continued as they wriggled fully onto the bed, leftover clothing pushed to the floor in their haste. Dorian's fingers were in his hair again, holding him in place. His other hand snaked down to grip his ass, bringing their hips together. Marcus gasped as his cock brushed against Dorian's and he spread his legs. One thigh slid between his and they rocked together momentarily, enjoying the friction.

"Oil's in the nightstand," Marcus whispered against his ear. "Do you want top?"

"You can fuck me if you want," Dorian said, breathless, turning his head for another kiss.

Marcus returned it, reaching up blindly to the nightstand drawer. Dorian's legs wrapped around his hips, tongue thrusting into his mouth as he clung tightly to him. Marcus's fingers found the familiar pewter bottle and he popped the cap off with his thumb. Stronger than Dorian, he flipped them over, settling back against the covers of his bed. Dorian sat up, raising an eyebrow.

"I like it either way. But tonight, could you…" Marcus gestured for Dorian's hand. "I'll take you next time."

Dorian looked confused a moment. "Next time."

"Unless you…"

"We'll discuss it after," Dorian promised, leaning down to kiss him again.

Marcus released the bottle when Dorian took it from him. He gasped into the kiss when Dorian's fingers ghosted up his erection and his legs spread automatically, drawing his knees back. They never talked about their experiences beyond veiled innuendo but Dorian was skillful in his preparation, two fingers pressing, stroking gently against the bundle of nerves that caused Marcus to cry out and grip him tightly.

"I'm going to use a bit of magic," Dorian whispered against his ear. "It'll help you relax."

Marcus nodded dumbly, licking his lips. Even with the warning, he wasn't prepared for the warmth followed by a maddening vibration that set his nerves alight. He thrust down against Dorian's fingers, panting, wanting more. Dorian chuckled and kissed him, and Marcus bit his lip harshly.

"Ow." Dorian frowned, pulling back.

"Sorry," Marcus breathed. "I can't… much longer. Please, Dorian. Stop teasing me. You'll make me come too soon."

"Thought you liked the foreplay," Dorian said, slightly mollified by the praise. He slicked up his erection, tossing the oil aside.

Marcus lifted his hips, feeling the familiar yet foreign feel of Dorian's cock against his hole. "Maker… yes, I do. I really… oh." He closed his eyes, forgetting everything for a moment, even how to breathe, as Dorian pressed forward. He drew his knees to his chest, holding onto them, nails digging into his skin, a sharp contrast to the pleasure he felt. His cock bobbed against his stomach, aching to be touched, and he needed to be fucked. "Dorian."

"The way you say my name," Dorian purred. "Look at me."

Marcus opened his eyes. "Dorian," he breathed. "Maker. I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner."

Dorian laughed. "Think of all the nights you lost out on when you could've had me instead of your own hand." He wrapped his around Marcus's cock now, hand warm and tingling with some kind of magic.

Marcus lost the words he wanted to say but it didn't matter anyway. Dorian was kissing him again, fucking him with slow, deep thrusts. He tried to push back, to do anything but lay there and whimper quietly, alternately gripping the blanket beneath him or reaching up to grasp Dorian's shoulder. Every thrust, every stroke brought a new wave of pleasure and his stomach tightened, legs aching. Dorian's fingers stroked his cock, thumb brushing over the tip, a cool sensation followed by a warm vibration, remnants of a spell that took him to the edge.

"Dorian," he whispered, as Dorian pressed his forehead against his shoulder. He held onto him, Dorian breathing hard as he thrust faster. "Dorian." He wanted to tell him how it felt, how good it was, how close he was, how he was almost there, so close to coming, how he just needed a little more…

Dorian leaned up for leverage, looking down at him briefly, then away as it became too intense. His eyes shut, Marcus found his hand splayed against the blanket, and gripped. It was impossible to say who came first, neither of them very loud as they reached their climax. For Marcus it was a moment of coiled tension then blissful relief as he came, ropy strands of semen against his chest and stomach. He felt Dorian's release against the backs of his thighs, heard the soft moan from above. Eyes still shut, he clung to Dorian's hand, then redoubled his grip when Dorian tried to pull away.

"No," he protested, looking up, finally opening his eyes. He pulled Dorian down to his side, holding him close at once.

Dorian let out a breathless laugh, one leg sliding over Marcus's, skin slightly sweaty. "The Inquisitor cuddles?"

Marcus caught his breath, arm wrapping tightly around Dorian's shoulders. "Don't tell. Ruin my reputation. Why did you try to leave?"

"Ah, well," Dorian said, head resting on Marcus's shoulder. "Something to clean up with?"

"There's a bath in the room just there," Marcus said, waving idly. He stretched, feeling exhausted but better than he had in some time.

"I suppose."

"Are you disappointed?" Marcus asked, worried. "I didn't do anything stupid, did I?" He frowned. "I didn't call out Cullen's name, right?"

Dorian scowled, leaning up to look down at him. "As if you could possibly think about him when you have me."

The indignant look was enough to set Marcus to laughter. Dorian's expression hardened and he pulled away, leaving Marcus to scramble after him. "Dorian, wait." Marcus grabbed his hand, nearly falling out of bed, and turned him around. "Of course I wasn't thinking about him." He redoubled his grip on Dorian's hand when Dorian tried once again to step away. "Look at me."

The defiance was back, chin up, proud. But in Dorian's eyes Marcus could see the hurt and all mirth fled him at once. 

"What?" Dorian asked flatly.

"I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I wasn't thinking about Cullen at all. And I don't want to talk about him. Not after that. That was…"

Dorian waited, and when he pulled away this time, Marcus allowed it. "Yes?" He folded his arms, looking haughty, even naked as he was.

Marcus pulled off his shirt and wiped himself off. "Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing." He paused as Dorian's expression softened. "The best fuck I've ever had in my life."

Dorian smirked. "Oh?"

"'Oh'," Marcus mocked, tossing the shirt aside. He stepped forward and took Dorian by the hips. "As if you weren't aware of how fabulous you are in bed."

" _I_ certainly know it," Dorian huffed. "I was just making sure _you_ did."

"I do now," Marcus murmured against his lips, pleased when Dorian allowed him a soft kiss. "I've never slept with a mage before. The magic you used was…" He smiled, forehead pressed against Dorian's. "So we'll do it again, right?"

"If that's what you wish."

But that wasn't it, Marcus thought. There was still something a little off. "Dorian?"

Dorian closed his eyes and sighed. "What is this? Just fun?"

"I… I don't know," Marcus admitted. "You say I'm your dearest friend."

"And I spoke the truth," Dorian said, looking at him.

"It's the same for me." Marcus kissed his forehead. "You mean a lot to me. More than just a one night stand. I don't want this to ruin our friendship. I could see it being more, though. If…" He paused as Dorian frowned. "No?"

"You want a relationship?" Dorian asked. "I'm…" He took a breath.

"It's worth a try, isn't it?"

"And your commander?"

It was Marcus's turn to frown. "An infatuation. A crush that will fade, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Dorian said flatly.

"We've nothing in common and nothing will come of it. You and I, we… What are you worried about? That you're second pick?" Marcus wondered if that was the issue. "Dorian, I didn't even know that you'd wanted… We're good together, you and I. Aren't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we are," Dorian admitted. 

Marcus pulled him close again, arms wrapped around him protectively. "Do you need some time to consider? Because I've made up my mind. I want this to work. It feels good. It feels right."

Dorian sighed against him. "Just some time to think. I'm not used to this."

"This?"

"Affection. Wanting more. It's dangerous."

"I wouldn't want to hurt you," Marcus said at once. "Take the time you need." Though he hoped Dorian would come to the same conclusion he had. They _were_ good together. For him, moving from friendship to lovers was a natural transition and while some of his relationships ended poorly, he was still acquainted with others with no bad blood between them. With Dorian, he realized he could have something more hopefully for a long time to come. He leaned down and kissed him, pleased when Dorian returned it. "Do you want to continue dressing me up, or…?"

Dorian laughed lightly. "Wear the black tomorrow at breakfast. It might help me make my decision."

Marcus smiled, settling back on the bed as Dorian dressed. "I'll need to get you something in return for all this," he said, gesturing to the piles of clothing, half of which were on the floor now.

Dorian paused at the mirror over Marcus's vanity, taking up a wooden comb to fix his hair. "I'm sure you'll think of something appropriate. Something expensive and shiny." He tossed the comb down and turned, one hand on a cocked hip as he surveyed Marcus's still-naked form. "Hm."

Marcus raised an eyebrow and stretched, letting him get an eyeful. "Thoughts?"

"You could simply walk around naked and say it was the latest style. Invisible fashion."

Marcus grinned. "I think there's a fairy tale about that, isn't there?"

Dorian laughed. "A moral story for the ages." He round the railing to the steps and stopped, contemplating a moment. "Regardless of what happens, we'll always be friends."

"That was never in question," Marcus assured him. "Even after we defeat Corypheus."

"If we live. You could be a martyr, you know."

"The songs would be nice," Marcus said off-handedly. "Though I'd rather be alive to hear the more mediocre versions."

Dorian wrinkled his nose. "No accounting for taste. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, then. Wear the black."

"I will. Good night, Dorian."

Dorian waved as he headed down the steps leading out of the room. Marcus sighed and looked around before standing and stretching. He hoped Dorian would have an answer for him soon. Hopefully even tomorrow at breakfast. He dressed and folded the clothing Dorian brought, his thoughts drifting not to Cullen as they had so often before, but to his friend. Arrogant but slightly vulnerable, he had a way of lighting up a room, of making him laugh. And Marcus realized that he must've been blind to miss the attraction in the first place. The subtle flirting that he was oblivious to before now seemed more than obvious. Did he really want to lose that?

Suddenly he raced down the steps as if his body responded to his thoughts faster he could process them. He took the winding corridors and another two flights of stairs, a little out of breath as he called Dorian's name. The door that led to the main hall of Skyhold was open and he barreled through, knocking into Dorian who'd stopped when he heard his name. Marcus tripped and took Dorian down with him, spilling them both into the throne room. Luckily it was late and the hall was largely empty save for Varric, who sat at the far end near the fireplace, penning a letter or his latest novel. He looked up and Marcus scrambled quickly, pulling Dorian to his feet before yanking him back, shutting the door behind them.

"There seriously had to have been a better way to get my attention," Dorian said, wincing.

"Sorry. Did I hurt-"

"No. What's wrong?" Dorian asked, concerned.

Instead of answering, Marcus kissed him. Dorian stiffened but relaxed quickly enough, letting out an _oomph_ when Marcus pushed him against the stone wall. It was difficult to put into words but Marcus hoped the kiss would make it clear.

_I want you. Don't leave._

The kiss ended slowly, Dorian looking surprised. "Well."

"Stay the night." Marcus waited anxiously for an answer, searching Dorian's bemused expression for any sign of doubt. "Please."

"So much for giving me time," Dorian sighed, pushing him back with a hand. "Why?"

Marcus swallowed hard. Why indeed? "Because I want you to."

Dorian pursed his lips, a dubious eyebrow raised as he held Marcus back. "Oh?"

"You wanted me. I was foolish to have missed it," Marcus admitted.

"And you've made up your mind all in an hour. Suddenly I'm to believe that the commander is a distant memory because we laid together?"

"Maker," Marcus sighed. "It does seem like that, yes. But it's not the truth. How many times do I have to admit I was stupid?"

Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "A few more wouldn't hurt."

"I was stupid," Marcus said. "I was, and now I'd like to fix that."

"You're rather endearing. It helps. Go on," Dorian prompted.

"I was blind. Missing what was right under my nose." He stepped forward and when Dorian didn't move, he took his arms gently. "An idiot for looking the other way. For not realizing what I could've had."

"You are rather thick," Dorian agreed. "I expect in Ostwick you just beat each other over the head with clubs and drag one another home."

"Something like that," Marcus said. "But now that I've realized…"

Dorian held his gaze a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. "I expect if I say no you'll just sit and stare at me longingly for days or weeks."

"I'll do that either way," Marcus promised.

"Your eyes won't stray."

It was less a question and more a demand, but Marcus answered anyway. "They won't. Only you."

"Well. I suppose you could glance his way once or twice," Dorian relented, then paused. "Hm. No. Eyes on me. All the time."

"I promise," he said at once. "Now… will you come upstairs?"

Dorian pretended to think it over. "I suppose."

Marcus kissed him once more, feeling relieved and overjoyed simultaneously. He entwined his fingers with Dorian, pulling him up the stairs.

"Still wear the black outfit tomorrow," Dorian instructed him. "I want everyone's eyes on you."

"And yours?" Marcus asked, glancing back at him.

Dorian smiled as they entered Marcus's quarters. "Only on you, of course."


End file.
